At first, Lucius hesitated. The silence was oppressive. Even with his newfound power, the sheer emptiness of the canvas unsettled him.
He remembered Chaos. The pain. The madness. The darkness within.
Now, he had to do the opposite—channel light, purpose, and life.
He closed his eyes and reached inward, not for power, but for vision.
A spark ignited.
The blank space before him shimmered. Mountains grew from nothing. Oceans poured in reverse from the clouds. Forests sprang forth, each tree different, some bearing fruit shaped like music, others glowing with hidden thoughts. He sculpted glaciers that breathed mist and deserts that whispered riddles.
He crafted a sky—layered with three suns that rotated like gears in a great clock, and a moon that whispered dreams to the creatures below. He infused starlight with memory, ensuring each constellation had a tale to tell.
Then came life.
